Original Prompt: #13
Summary: Draco Malfoy is confronted by a wealthy spitfire and it forces him to look at his true nature.
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters (though I wish I did); they belong to J.K. Rowling.
AU or Canon: Yes! (I mean, a bit of both)
“Are you certain you want to do this?” her friend asked anxiously.
“Of course I'm certain. It took me almost two full months to make sure the timing is right with him. There's no way I'm backing out now,” she replied.
“I still think it's dangerous. It's unpredictable.”
“Not that dangerous,” she said, her temper beginning to flare. She truly didn't like others telling her what to do. She'd gotten enough of that over the years. “I think it's a good plan. I know I can do this.”
“But you can't control everything. It doesn't work that way.”
She grabbed the potion from her friend's hands. “All that matters is him. I know he's been noticing me this year. That means I have a chance.”
“You're obsessed,” her friend stated.
“I have to be. We need every advantage we can get.”
Draco wandered down the hallway on his way to class, his two best friends close to his side. It seemed like a typical October day, but he found himself worrying. There was something important, something he needed to remember. Considering he had an exam, he supposed that maybe Hermione's ranting had finally worn off on him, but he was certain that the thought that was troubling him had nothing to do with his studies.
“I knew it!” Hermione said, sounding frustrated and interrupting his thoughts. “I forgot to re-read that section on storage of ingredients. This is going to be a disaster!”
Both he and Harry rolled their eyes, sharing a knowing grin between themselves. After seven years together, Hermione's behavior was far too predictable, and she complained about every test in exactly the same way. Both boys just shook their heads, ignoring her all-too-familiar complaint.
Hermione was just opening her mouth to continue as they rounded a corner, but the sounds of a lively argument drew their attention.
“I'm the older brother, so I'm in charge here, and Father says you have to do as I say!”
“I don't care, Ron!” the red-haired girl bellowed in response, her voice disproportionately loud in comparison to her relatively small size.
Harry and Draco looked at each other, grinning. “It would appear that not all is harmonious in the Weasley house,” Harry said, in a mockingly stuffy tone.
“Yeah, it looks like money doesn't buy happiness,” Draco said in agreement.
“Michael Corner is a Ravenclaw!”
“So what? Since when does that matter?”
The outrageous display between the Slytherin siblings was drawing a crowd. Most of the observers were just curious, several were chuckling, and Ron's two trollish best friends, Crabbe and Goyle, simply stood by looking confused.
The Weasley girl continued to rant, and Draco stared at her in awe. She was fascinating to him, all fire and spunk – one of the few in the school that was willing to stand up to her brother. She was his polar opposite and, considering that Ron Weasley was a total git, it made Draco like the girl even more.
“I'll date whoever I please!” Ginevra Weasley shouted at her brother.
“You'll date whoever, or whomever, or whatever I say!” Ronald Weasley shouted in return.
She snorted, her eyes flashing with fire and Draco was transfixed.
Draco felt someone jam an elbow painfully into his side. “Ow!” he squeaked, turning to look down at Hermione, who was scowling up at him.
“Stop mooning over her, Draco. She might be pretty, but you know she's just another Death Eater like the rest of her horrid family.”
He cringed at her words, not realizing how obvious he'd been. It was true that the whole family was full of potential Death Eaters, making the entire lot repulsive, as a rule. But, it was also true that ever since the Weasley girl had arrived at school this year, Draco had been distracted by her. He'd never noticed her before, but she'd definitely blossomed in her sixth year, and not only had she caught his attention, but almost every other bloke in the school had managed to take notice. Apparently, from the argument in progress, Michael Corner had worked up enough nerve to make a move.
But he didn't dwell on Hermione's remark because he was watching Ginevra respond to her brother's latest taunt. “Oh really,” she said, staring solidly at her brother, her voice dropping to a dangerously low tone. She glanced around at the crowd, and Draco imagined that her gaze settled on him for just a split second longer than anyone else.
She turned back to her brother, venom in her voice. “Well, what if I decided to date Malfoy?”
Draco blinked after hearing her words and his mouth dropped open. “What?” he muttered, uncertain that he'd heard correctly.
Ronald's face turned an even deeper red, almost purple. Draco, however, didn't notice. His eyes were glued to the little spitfire who had just uttered his name.
While her brother was temporarily immobilized by the audacity of her statement, she marched straight over to the trio, all standing similarly stunned. She stopped only inches from her blond target.
“What do you say, Malfoy? Would you like to take me to Hogsmeade this weekend?”
He could feel the eyes of his friends on him, but he couldn't tear his eyes away from the scene in front of him. He caught the murderous look on Ronald Weasley's face before turning his focus on the pretty girl in front of him, her chin raised in challenge. His heart thumped madly. Until this very moment, he really hadn't thought much of her, aside from noticing that she was attractive. But now, with the way she was totally throwing her brother off guard? Well, that made her interesting.
He stood there, gobsmacked for several seconds. In the end, his words were chosen for two reasons: first, because he hated Ronald Weasley for years of bullying and torment, and, second, he really wanted to go to Hogsmeade with the girl.
“I'll see you on Saturday.”
“Good,” she said, reaching up to finger the collar of his worn, second-hand shirt, and then she looked up at him, her smile seeming just a bit feral.
Hermione didn't speak to him for the rest of the morning and he couldn't blame her. What he'd just done had been incredibly stupid. When they entered the Great Hall for lunch, Draco immediately sat down at his usual spot at the Gryffindor table and dropped his head down with a loud thud, groaning loudly. “What have I done?”
Harry clapped him on the shoulder, in mock comfort. “It'll be all right mate. It just means that Weasley will likely kill you sooner rather than later.”
“He's already tried to kill me, if you recall,” remembering last year's poisoning.
Harry chuckled. “Last year was an accident. This time, you're dating his sister.”
He lifted his head off the table, only to immediately drop his head into his hands, feeling the onset of an extremely large headache. He looked up, only to see the Weasley in question glaring at him from the Slytherin table. The sister who had initiated the entire mess was nowhere to be seen.
His world seemed like it had gone into a tailspin, and it was more than just events of the morning. For a very long time, he'd been feeling trapped, and he'd been unable to pinpoint why. He'd considered sharing his feelings of uneasiness with his friends, but something held him back.
“In case you forgot,” Hermione interrupted, “We have a test in Potions right after lunch. You should be concentrating on that!”
He tried to concentrate, he really did, but the words on every page seemed to be vague and dreamlike, making him wonder if he was coming down with an illness, or if he'd accidentally inhaled the wrong potion fumes. His mind was just too distracted, whether it was due to his impending death or the date, he couldn't decide which.
More than anything, he wanted to just go to the Quidditch pitch and fly until things made sense again. When he was in the air, he felt a sense of freedom that was absent during almost every other moment of his life. He'd been feeling the need to escape for a very long time, except for one moment, and that was when Ginevra Weasley had demanded that he do something completely out of the ordinary.
The next day passed so quickly he seemed to retain very little memory of the time. Vague scenes of sitting with his friends, or going to class seemed to pass by without much substance, and by Saturday morning, as he was dressing for his 'date', he once again had an overwhelming feeling that something was missing, and he was desperately supposed to remember.
He was digging through his trunk, trying to find one of his best shirts and the quest seemed hopeless. He remembered Ginevra tugging at the collar of his worn robes, and memories of every taunt that her brother had thrown at him over the years assaulted him. Pictures of the beautiful garments worn by Ronald Weasley flashed through his mind, although Ronald made the best-tailored items still seem rumpled and cheap.
All of Draco's clothing was second hand, and most were more than a little worn, although his mother did her best to modify the items to be stylish, and he was meticulous about making certain that each item was neatly pressed and presentable. He dearly loved his mother for her efforts, but still, as he looked sadly through his collection of clothing, he was quite certain that nothing he owned would likely impress his wealthy date.
Harry interrupted his thoughts. “Are you sure you want to do this? Weasley and his goons will be sure to try to find you and cause trouble.”
Draco took a deep breath, silently agreeing with his friend. “I said that I'd go.” He'd given his word, but he also wanted to know if the feeling of escape that he'd experienced when the Weasley girl had confronted him had been an anomaly, or if there was something definitive about her fire-filled personality that drew him out.
The Great Hall was crowded with students awaiting the gates to open so they could go. As he scanned the crowd, he immediately caught sight of Ronald Weasley's tall, lanky form, but before the red-haired boy turned to see him, a small body collided with him, pushing him back into the corridor.
“Ooof!” he said, not-so-eloquently, and looked down to identify his attacker.
Ginevra Weasley was looking back up at him, that same impish grin on her face that she'd had when the entire fiasco began. “Ready to go?”
Something in his heart fluttered, confirming his attraction to the girl, but he couldn't forget that she was a Slytherin, making him feel particularly cautious about dealing with her.
“I suppose, although I think that your brother has other ideas,” he said, motioning toward the Great Hall, where Ronald stood, clearly watching for his sister. “I'm sure he's preparing to murder me right now.”
She peeped out into the hall and her face scrunched in concern. “He's not going to murder you, Malfoy.”
“I beg to differ, since he very nearly succeeded last year with some poisoned mead.”
She looked shocked for a moment, then drew in a breath. “Yes, well, let's not dwell on that, shall we?”
“Look, Weasley, if you're just doing this to annoy your brother, I understand.”
“No!” she said, just a bit to quickly. Then, catching herself, she said, “Well, I don't mind annoying him, but I do want to spend the day with you.” After thinking for a moment, she added, “If you'd rather not go to Hogsmeade, we could just spend the day here.”
He thought for a moment, and it was a reasonable compromise. With Ronald off at Hogsmeade looking for the pair of them, he could actually enjoy the day, and not worry about spending every last sickle on a girl who wanted for nothing financially.
Nodding, he agreed, and her slightly evil grin returned.
As they left the castle, with a hamper of food in hand, he turned to her and asked, “Do you mind if we just go fly for a while?”
Nothing made him happier than when he saw a look of relief on Ginevra's face and she agreed. “Yes. I think I'd like that very much.”
It seemed as if she was looking for the same kind of escape that called to him.
They spent the morning on the Quiddich pitch, flying around on a couple of the school brooms, saying very little. At lunch, they ate sandwiches that had been packed in the hamper, and stared at the sky.
Uncomfortable with the lack of conversation, he finally said what was bothering him. “I'm starting to think that you are just manipulating me, Weasley.”
“What makes you think that?”
He looked at her. “With all the attention that you get, you could choose anyone. Why me?”
“Why not you?” she replied, avoiding his question. “Don't you like spoiled rich girls?” she asked.
Her question carried a taunting tone. “I didn't say I didn't, but with all the differences, this whole idea just spells trouble, and I think you are trying to cause it.”
She shrugged. “Maybe. It wasn't exactly my intention, but I really do hate being told what to do, and Ron got me worked up into a bit of a temper. I probably me to be a bit more direct than I'd intended.”
He laughed, remembering the look on his longtime adversary's face. “Well, then, you got him back. I thought he was going to explode.”
“I did want to spend time with you, though,” she said.
Still skeptical about her intentions, he asked, “Why?”
She looked down at her sandwich, not looking at him as she answered, “I just see something interesting in you. I wanted to see if I was right. Would you care to share about why you wanted to spend the day with me?”
A smile came to his lips. “Aside from annoying Ronald, I thought you were interesting also.”
“Well, we seem to be in agreement,” she said. “Now, I suppose this is the part where we get to know each other. So, tell me,” she said, “What do you think of Death Eaters and Pureblood superiority?”
He thought her question was blunt and just a little rude. It threw him off balance, but he rather liked her direct manner. Then, he tried to think of how to answer. After a long pause, he finally said, “I think the whole think is shite. I can't say that I like the idea of pledging my loyalty to some maniac.”
She seemed surprised by his answer. “So, you don't care much for Ron,” she stated.
“He's a spoiled brat,” Draco replied. “Always thinks that money or his father will let him get by with everything.” Then, he realized that he was talking to the git's sister. “I hope that doesn't offend you.”
“I suppose it's the truth,” she said. “He can be a bit of a handful. But, seriously, Malfoy, wouldn't you prefer to be rich and be part of a powerful family? After all, the old Pureblooded, wealthy families hold all the power right now, and you and yours are at their mercy.”
It sounded like she was taunting him. Daring him to defend himself. He thought for a moment, remembering how much his mother loved him, and all the money in the world wouldn't change that. The thought of Voldemort and his total control made him feel suffocated, despite the fact that they were outside. He'd take his worn clothing any day over a life of servitude to a megalomaniac like Voldemort. “The cost is too high. I prefer to live my own life.”
She appeared thoughtful at his response. “Good, then.”
“What about you, Ginevra? What's it like being obscenely rich?” He almost regretted asking the question. It seemed rather rude but, as he looked at her, with her short tailored skirt and perfectly styled hair, he felt something, as if something was missing. He wanted to know the answer.
She bit her lip, looking worried, before she responded, “Uncomfortable.”
It wasn't exactly an answer, but he pondered the idea, his mind just touching on what it might be like to have tailored clothing, the best of everything. Something whispered at the back of his mind and he had a feeling that he knew exactly what she meant by that statement.
She asked him about his likes, his studies. He answered, as honestly as he could, yet it always felt that some of the information was missing. It bothered him that he couldn't dredge up certain details, but then, after looking into her eyes, it somehow didn't seem to matter. He was enjoying this time too much, and he didn't want to dwell on the darkness that was creeping at the edge of his memory.
She'd just giggled at a joke he made about the Slytherin House, nothing that he hadn't said a thousand times before among his friends, but it was special sharing it with her. She thought he was funny.
When he finally worked up the nerve to kiss her, he felt awkward and young and nervous, probably far more so than a seventeen year-old should, but she was smiling at him, her face bright and impish, her hair literally glowing in the afternoon sunlight.
She looked up at him, with laughter in her eyes, and he leaned forward, just a bit, his face just an inch from hers. At that moment, her expression changed to confusion, maybe a hint of fear, but he could feel the spark of magic between them. He was sure she felt it too. Her breath caught, and the smallest of gasps escaped from her throat. Her lips parted, and he moved forward, his lips brushing hers softly, then with more pressure when he realized that she wasn't pulling away.
All other thoughts were pushed from his mind.
Finally, as the sun began to sink low, he felt suddenly uncomfortable. It had been a surprisingly nice day, but, once again, he wondered about Ginevra's motives.
She hurried away from the pitch, mumbling something about her brother probably looking for her. She appeared bothered.
He caught up with her, grabbing her hand before she could dart away, and she appeared confused by his action. “I had a nice time, Ginevra.”
His words apparently troubled her. “I did too,” she said, before hurrying away.
The next time he saw her, they were just passing in the hall, and she insulted him. “So, Malfoy, nice stain.”
He looked down. He was wearing the same shirt that he'd worn during one of Seamus' infamous potion explosions last year, and he'd never been able to get all the spots out of the collar. Otherwise, it was a perfectly nice shirt. One of his newer ones, actually, which was why he continued to wear it, despite the spots.
“Nice of you to notice,” he replied, feeling a bit insulted.
She turned up her nose a bit. “Did you get that when you were sniveling all over Potter?”
He sneered. “Better than sniveling all over a raving lunatic of a Dark Lord,” he responded.
“I do not snivel,” she snapped in return.
He watched as she sauntered off, her chin high and her short skirt flouncing every so enticingly around her bum. He closed his eyes and groaned.
After that, he resorted to stalking her, finding out her favorite places to go, where in the library she liked to hide while studying. Finally, he was able to find her in an isolated corner of the library, her brother and his friends nowhere in sight.
Sneaking up behind her as soon as he saw she was alone, he whispered harshly in her ear. “What was all that about, Weasley?”
She jumped about a foot out of her chair in surprise. It was quite satisfying.
Turning to him, obviously startled and annoyed, she avoided the question. “What are you doing here?”
“Studying. And annoying you. Now answer my question.”
“You are supposed to be a git. I'm treating you that way. Isn't it obvious?”
He sighed deeply. “Lousy answer, Weasley.”
“Will you stop calling me, Weasley? That's what you call my brother and, in case you haven't noticed, I'm not him.”
Once again, she'd avoided the question by changing the subject. It was getting annoying, and intriguing. Damn witch. “Fine, Ginevra. But you were acting like him earlier today and I'd like to know why.”
She groaned and dropped her head on the desk. “I'm not sure I'm supposed to get along with you,” she mumbled, her face still planted on the table.
“Yes, I know. Blood traitor, poor, all that stuff. I get it.”
She lifted her head and looked at him. “No, not like that.”
“Well tell me. Should I be insulting you? Goodness knows I could insult your brother all day and still have some to spare.”
She rewarded him with a small smile. “You just don't like his red hair.”
“And his size, and the fact that he's made my life miserable. Is he the reason that you've been avoiding me?” he asked softly.
She frowned. “No, not him. You just... You aren't who you seem to be."
Who did he seem to be? He thought back, trying to discern if he'd lied to her in any way, but again, the details seemed irrelevant.
"Who do you expect me to be? It's not all that complicated. I'm a good student. I love to play Quidditch and chess, I love my family. What is wrong with any of that? Unless it's because I'm poor and friends with the great Harry Potter?"
She shook her head. "No, you aren't. You're horrib..."
He moved forward, catching her arm, effectively stopping her from completing whatever she was about to say. Something deep inside of him didn't want to hear it. "Come with me," he said, impulsively wanting to get her to someplace more secluded for their conversation.
She hesitated and he realized that she didn't trust him, and he desperately wanted her trust. Feeling the darkness at the edge of his memory, he knew that there was only one place that he could go to open up to her. Looking at her earnestly, he simply begged, "Please."
Leading her from the library, he took her up to the Astronomy Tower, past the main viewing area, and to a small turret off to the side. She seemed uncomfortable with the location, but he tried to clarify. "I used to love it up here, a long time ago," he told her.
"But you don't anymore?" She asked, her eyes looking into his, as if searching for a deeper meaning.
He looked around, shaking his head. "No. No, I don't."
"Dumbledore," she said sadly.
"Your brother was responsible," he said angrily. "It shouldn't have happened. It was wrong."
Her eyes looked into his, piercingly, angrily. "Do you really think that?"
Something wasn't right about the memory, but he knew his feelings were clear. He drew back on the memories, recalling Harry's words about the incident, his description so clear that Draco could imagine every detail, as if he had been there.
"It was horrid, even if his family was being threatened like Harry said. It was wrong. There were other options. Why was he so blind to them? Why doesn't he show even the smallest bit of remorse?" he demanded, his feelings of anger, frustration, and helplessness pouring out as if he'd been there for that terrible moment.
"Why do you think?" she demanded.
"How should I know? Maybe he just puts up a front. Maybe he's terrified of his father. Maybe he thinks Voldemort is just waiting for an excuse to kill him if he shows weakness. All I know is that he's a small minded bully."
She bit her lip, and he fully expected her to rant and defend her brother. She seemed to stop herself, then reached up to touch his cheek. When she pulled her hand away, he noticed it was wet with the remnants of the tears that were flowing down his face.
He looked out at the sky, wishing that he could fly away. "Part of me feels like the nightmares in my life aren't real, but now, when I stand up here, I know that the worst is ture, and Dumbledore is gone, and he was the best hope that we had,” he said, pouring out a frustration that he'd held in for far too long. “Now, there's nobody strong enough to help Harry,” he said, with a passion that he didn't realize that he had until that very moment.
“You actually want Harry to win? You actually like the Savior?”
Draco shrugged. “He's all right. He's shite at chess though. But I don't want to talk about Harry," he said, reaching his arms to pull her closer, giving her his best endearing smile. “Can we talk about something else?”
She gave a small smile in return, not embracing him back, but she didn't resist. "Then tell me why you used to like it up here so much," she said.
He looked up, taking in the sky, and the dark feelings that haunted him were pushed away. Feeling a sense of peace wash over him, he said, "The stars. I love the sky. Maybe that's why I love flying and being outside. It makes me feel like I'm free."
"I feel like I could just escape. Like I could fly off and not answer to anybody anymore."
She looked up, watching the sky, trying to comprehend what he meant. "You don't feel like you could just do whatever you want?"
"No. Not for a long time. But, then I met yoy. You make me feel that way." He looked down at her seriously, hoping that she understood. In only a short time, she'd changed his outlook, making him feel like a door had opened to a new perspective.
She gasped, unsure of what to say in response. Before she could form words, he leaned down and kissed her.
She didn't pull away and it made him feel bold. What he focused on the fact that that she was there, in this place that held a dark nightmare for him. She could make it better. He knew she could and he wanted that desperately. With her, he could be free, and he wanted that so very badly.
"Escape with me, just for tonight," he said, pouring his heart into the words.
She answered with a whimper, and kissed him back, her fingers wrapping into his hair. He didn't care that she was of a different class from him, or that her views differed from his. She was something untamed and he wanted to share in that wildness, if only for a little while.
He'd never been with a girl. Vague memories of snogging old girlfriends floated through his mind, but this was different. He wanted Ginevra Weasley, a girl who seemed to draw out of him something different and primal than anything he could imagine.
He moved from kissing her to licking her neck, intent on quenching the fire that seemed to embody her, and one that he'd embraced. Again, her whimper of approval gave him courage to continue. He was on a quest, not just to win over the girl in his arms, but to beat back the darkness that seemed to constantly be touching his mind and his memories.
He dared to lift the obscenely soft, expensive sweater off her body, the fabric feeling tauntingly familiar. To his delight, not only did she not object, but she lifted her arms to allow the action.
“I'd love to fly away with you,” she said.
“Think of when we flew around the pitch,” he said. “We can do that. You and me.”
She nodded, reaching for his shirt, helping him unhitch each of the buttons.
It was liberating, each of them releasing themselves from the items of clothing that defined them, as if the clothing labeled them in some way.
He paused only long enough to transfigure his cloak into a soft blanket to cushion them both, before kissing her again. He was content, running his fingers up and down her bare back and stomach but he soon found out that, apparently, she was not. She pulled back, running her hands down his chest, her eyes studying him so intently that he thought his skin might be on fire from the intensity. Then, with an impish smile, she reached behind her back to unclasp her bra. His breath caught at the sight and then it was as if there was no turning back.
She pushed him back down on the blanket, her hands reaching for the buckle of his belt and he thought he was going to die. It was all the encouragement he needed. He squirmed out of his pants, then eagerly reached for her skirt to help her do the same, never more than a few seconds apart, their mouths never stopping in their hungry quest for each other.
Finally, when she was naked underneath him, he pulled away from kissing to admire her. She was incredible in the moonlight, her skin pale in contrast to the deep crimson of her hair. His hands skimmed over her, and she rewarded him with a contented moan.
He'd already gone farther with this girl than he'd ever gone before, and he felt reckless and bold. A glimmer of morality crept into his brain, but he shoved it aside when she reached for him, touching his arousal, making him feel as if he was going to burst. He was too eager, too new at this to maintain any kind of control, so he pulled away, his own curious fingers reaching to touch her just as intimately.
She whimpered in pleasure.
“Tell me you want to fly away from it all, Ginevra. Tell me that you can look past all our differences and just see me for who I am,” he said, positioning his body on top of hers.
She nodded, trembling slightly as she widened to accept him. With a wicked grin, she looked him over, making him almost blush under her scrutiny. “I think I'm seeing you quite well at the moment,” she said with a grin.
“Good,” he replied, enjoying the moment far too much. He was ready and so was she, and there was nothing left but to plunge in and finish the act. He licked his lips, watching her face closely for any sign of hesitation, but there was none. She wanted him as much as he wanted her. He lifted his hips ever so slightly, and then...
He felt a sense of dizziness overwhelm him. It was as if he was suddenly being pulled away.
Ginny Weasley woke up, her breath coming in short, desperate gasps as soon as she realized where she was, a feeling of panic sweeping over her, replacing her rampant feelings of arousal.
Neville rushed to her side, taking her hand and holding it firmly. “Are you all right, Ginny? You've been moaning in your sleep for a while and I've been trying to wake you.”
“I'm... I'm fine,” she stammered, slowly sitting up, feeling more than just a little dizzy.
“What happened? Did the potion work?”
“What?” she said, turning to her friend, her eyes still trying to focus on the sight of Neville's room. “Oh, yeah. It worked. Maybe too well,” she said, running her hand over her flushed face and trying to catch her breath.
“Did you make contact with him?”
She looked away. “Yes, but...”
“Did he hurt you?” Neville demanded angrily.
“No!” she replied, just a bit too quickly, and she felt herself starting to blush. “No, he was fine. It's just that the daydream didn't exactly go as I planned.”
“I warned you about that. That's the problem with daydreams. They take their own path.”
“I'm aware of that, Neville, that was why I tried to plan the scenario,” she said sharply, and Neville cringed. She felt bad almost immediately. He didn't deserve her anger just because she was embarrassed by what had happened in the dream.
“Maybe we should have practiced on ourselves before trying it with him,” he said, trying to console her. “I mean, it was a totally new variation to add a second person to the daydream charm, and your idea of adding memories to create a realistic scenario... It was a pretty aggressive potion.”
She nodded. Initially, she'd been tinkering with the twins' daydream charm as summer project. Using it to get into Malfoy's head to see if he had weaknesses that they could use – well, that had been an impulsive and reckless idea. The fact that Neville went along with it only proved how desperate they had been.
“What went wrong?” Neville asked. “How was it different?”
She closed her eyes, trying to recall the differences from their planned scenario. “He had more of Ron's memories than I expected. He was poor, but he didn't care about that. What was weird was that I was rich and Ron was there. It was so messed up. I had to be creative to make contact with him.”
“Something happened,” Neville stated flatly.
“It's nothing to worry about,” she declared, hoping to change the subject. “How long was I out?”
“About twelve hours. I was getting a little worried, especially when you started thrashing around.”
“That's odd. I thought I was gone for at least a week.”
Again, she fought back a blush as memories of her potion-induced daydream assaulted her.
It was true that it hadn't worked at all as she'd planned, but in a way, she'd still been successful. She found out more about Malfoy as a person; that he had anger and regrets about the tower, that he resented Voldemort and that he longed for freedom. The only downturn was that she'd gotten lost in the daydream and it turned down its own random path, with very, very unexpected consequences.
“Did you find out anything?” he asked.
She nodded, looking Neville in the eyes, hope shining in her own. “Yes, and I think that Draco Malfoy is not anything we expected.”
Draco Malfoy awoke suddenly, feeling confused and disoriented. He'd been pulled from one of the happiest moments of his life only to find himself alone and quite in need of a cold shower. As soon as his attention was drawn to the green curtains surrounding his bed, he realized that he'd only been experiencing a dream, and being pulled back to his stark reality was devastating.
He spent the morning alone, feeling far from rested, trying to distract himself from the memories but with little success. Details seemed to flood back each time he tried to concentrate on almost anything. After several hours, he came to the conclusion that whatever he had experienced had been far too vivid and detailed to merely have been a dream.
He wanted answers, and decided that he was going to start with the single most prominent person in his strange dream – a girl who'd drawn his attention from the beginning of the year – Ginny Weasley.
Author's note – there you have it, dear mystery recipient. I only had a week from prompt to finish to get this story out, so I do hope it fits what you were looking for. I think I could have made it much longer, and I would have loved to write up when our couple meets up in real life because I think that's when they could have some fun, sharp dialog. Perhaps, if feedback is good (hint, hint) I might be inspired to write that up.
Briefly describe what you'd like to receive in your fic:
The tone/mood of the fic: Not too angsty, not too fluffy. Definitely not dark. As before, I still like fics that make me feel something. I really like fics that instill emotions as if I was intimately connected with the characters
An element/line of dialogue/object you would specifically like in your fic: snarky flirtation
Preferred rating of the the fic you want: NC-17/Explicit
More canon, or more AU? No preference
Deal Breakers (anything you don't want?): non-con
Are you willing to receive art instead of a fic? No (sorry)
If yes, what kind of artwork would you like to receive?
Is there anything you specifically don't want?